Redemption (Highland Brides of Skye Book 2)

by April Holthaus

  Surely, he didn’t know, for their adopted father wouldn’t easily give up his favorite daughter.

  Helena had been Malcolm’s favorite—until Gwen arrived at Glenwood Abbey. It mattered not that Helena had faithfully served Malcolm for two years as a master thief before Gwen arrived, he openly favored Gwen.

  Malcom groomed three other young girls as thieves and spies, but Helena and Gwen were Malcom’s secret weapons. Under Malcom’s tutelage, Gwen had honed her skills with bow and arrow and knife. But her real skill came in her ability to root out information. People liked her. Trusted her. Two years ago, Malcom sent Gwen on a mission. She wasn’t seen for six months, and Helena began to speculate that she’d met a bad end. In the eight years that Helena had been in Malcom’s service, she’d seen two other sisters of the order disappear. But Gwen returned and visited with Arabelle, her sister. Twice thereafter, she visited Arabelle, again. But that had been months ago. A little over a month ago, Malcom had taken Arabelle away, and Helena concluded that Gwen had, indeed, fallen while in service to their adopted father.

  Now, of all places, to find her here at Dunvegan. Anger twisted through her. Helena’s talent as a master thief could gain her access to almost any place, but if Gwen caught her in the castle, everything she’d worked so hard for this last year would be lost forever.

  She couldn’t return to the abbey…to Malcolm. The betrayal—his lies—was too much. Helena had denied the truth for too long. But no more. Malcolm cared only for the riches their talents brought him.

  “Moira, we have several racks of lamb in the storage cellar.” Gwen’s voice yanked Helena’s attention back onto her. “Have Manas help ye fetch them,” Gwen told the maid. “It should be enough to feed the laird’s guests. Where is Darby?”

  “In the kitchen, my lady,” Moira replied.

  Helena watched Gwendolyn walk back to the kitchen door. She pulled it open and called for the lad. An instant later, a lad of roughly ten summers appeared in the doorway followed by a smaller boy.

  “Ye called, Lady MacLeod?” the older boy asked.

  Lady MacLeod? Helena’s heart pounded. Gwen was—

  Helena’s knees weakened.

  “Laird MacLeod will be returning from the fields soon,” Gwen told the boy. “Ye and your brother fetch the tub and deliver it to his chambers.”

  “Aye, my lady. Right away,” the boy replied, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Helena could scarcely believe it. Lady MacLeod. Gwen had not only married, but had married the MacLeod laird.

  How could a woman like Gwendolyn find a normal life? Helena’s heart twisted. To believe that this world would ever offer her anything so wonderful was like believing she could polish stones and turn them into gold. God only knew what Gwendolyn had done to achieve her place in Laird MacLeod’s life. She’d likely done something just as despicable as Helena was about to do.

  Helena whirled and hurried across the small foyer, then up the stairs. She climbed to the third floor, then set the basket on the floor, and continued down the hallway to the far end of the wing. The distance between the small torches grew and she pulled a torch from the holder before she turned the bend. Her heart pounded. Up ahead, in the shadowed end of the hallway, a large oak door came into view. She quickened her pace. If the map was correct, this was the laird’s treasure room. She reached the door and tried the handle. As expected, locked. Laird MacLeod was no fool.

  She slid the torch into the holder to the right of the door and quickly took the lock picks from the hidden pocket in the cloak. In seconds, the lock clicked open. Helena eased open the heavy door and peeked inside. As hoped, the room was vacant. She slid the lock picks back into her pocket, then grabbed the torch and slipped inside, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Helena scanned the room. A large wood wardrobe stood against the left wall. Swords, axes and spears leaned against the walls. One jeweled dagger gleamed amongst a pile of furs. She put the torch in a holder near the door, then began her search. No luck with the wardrobe or the small desk in the corner. A chest sat at the far end of the room. Could it really be that simple? Kneeling beside it, Helena lifted the lid. Inside lay a single object wrapped in the MacLeod plaid and tied tightly with red satin ribbon. She lifted the tartan-wrapped object from the box and plucked at the knot until the ribbon loosened. With a deep breath, Helena unfolded the plaid and stared down at the shimmering yellow silk.

  Her heart leapt. I found it.

  She held in her hands the legendary MacLeod Faery Flag. Did the flag truly offer protection and hold magic as legend said? Malcolm thought so, which was why he ordered her to steal it for him. For Helena, the flag represented freedom.

  Chapter 6

  With the Faery Flag tucked into a second hidden pocket of her cloak, Helena stepped from the treasure room and pulled the door closed. She started to place the torch in this holder beside the door, then froze at the distant murmur of voices.

  Who would be coming to this section of the castle for any other reason than to enter the treasure room? Her heart began to pound. If she didn’t lock the room, whoever entered would immediately be alerted that someone had been inside. Quickly, she put the sconce in the holder, then dug into the hidden pocket with the lock picks set and pulled it out. Her fingers trembled as she removed the tools from the small box, then knelt in front of the lock. She set the box beside her and forced calm as she inserted the tools. The echo of bootfalls grew louder.

  She should forget locking the door, take her chances and run. Nae. She had the tools in hand. It would take mere seconds. Mere seconds was all it would take for her to get caught. She jammed the tools into the lock and fumbled the tool in her left hand. She stilled, took a deep breath, then, with years of practice, deftly worked the tools until the lock clicked into place. She grabbed the box and shoved to her feet, stuffing the tools and box into the hidden pocket.

  Helena pulled the torch from the holder, turned, then halted. She couldn’t leave the way she’d come. That’s the route from which the newcomers approached. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes. She couldn’t come this far only to get caught. She whirled and took the hallway to the left of the treasure room door.

  Where did this hallway lead? She tried to recall the mental image of the map, but blood roared so loudly in her ears that she could think of nothing but the rapid pace of her heartbeat. A staircase came into view up ahead on the left. She reached the stairs and hurried down two more floors until the stairs spilled out onto a hallway she hoped was on the main floor. Helena spotted a sconce holder. She left her torch there and kept going. A murmur of voices sounded up ahead. How she wished she had the basket that she’d left behind. Two men rounded the bend.

  They neared her, and the shorter of the two—though they were both giants—said, “Afternoon, lass. What are you doing lurking about castle hallways alone?”

  Helena tried to hurry past them, but the man stepped in her path.

  She halted and flicked a covert glance at the dagger strapped to his belt, then looked up at him. “Out of my way.”

  “We mean you no harm, lass,” he said. “Come, tell us your name.”

  Her heart thundered, but she said, “Unless you wish to explain to Lady Gwendolyn why you harassed her dear friend, I suggest ye move.”

  The man blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face. “I imagine many a lass would like to claim Lady Gwendolyn as their dear friend.”

  “I care nothing for what other women might do,” she snapped. “If you wish to chance that I am lying, then get on with it. But be warned, unless you kill me, I will tell Lady Gwendolyn that you harassed me.”

  He laughed. “There will be no killing, lass. We only ask a simple kiss for the price your safe passage.” He grasped her arm and tugged her to him.

  Helena yanked free the dagger hanging from his belt and pressed the knife point to his belly. He froze.

  “Laird McLeod will no’ fault me for killing a man who accosted m
e.”

  Anger flashed in the man’s eyes and, for an instant, Helena feared she would have to stab him. Then he released her. She took three steps backwards, out of his reach.

  Stand aside,” she said.

  Slowly, they walked past her. Helena turned and watched until they were several paces past her.

  “Return my dagger,” the man ordered.

  Helena lifted a brow. “Nae. I will keep it for protection. Keep walking.”

  His mouth thinned, but his friend said, “Come along, David.”

  David’s head snapped his direction. “You fool. Now she knows my name.”

  “She has come to no harm,” his friend said. “MacLeod can have no quarrel with us. Let us go.”

  David shot her a dark look but turned and strode away with his friend. Helena watched until they turned another bend and were out of sight, then collapsed against the wall, her knees so weak she wasn’t certain she could walk.

  She took several breaths, then stuffed the dagger into the pocket with the lock picks and started walking again. She turned the bend and, at the end of the hallway, an arched doorway opened into what she recognized as the great hall.

  God have mercy. There had to be another door or hallway before she reached the great hall. She couldn’t enter the great hall. If Gwen saw her… But there was no other corridor or stairway. As she neared, the soft melody of a lyre met her ears and the murmur of voices grew into a low din. Twenty feet from the doorway, she slowed. The room was much fuller than it had been when she’d entered the castle. The wedding feast looked to be well underway.

  Hugging the wall, Helena sidled up to the doorway and carefully peered into the room. Serving maids weaved amongst what had to be a hundred warriors. Noblewomen sat at tables near the dais. A few mingled with the men.

  Helena hurried past the open doorway to the other wall and pressed her back against the wall, then scanned the side of the room this vantage point allowed. She spotted a postern door and gave thanks. It was only thirty feet to the door. She started to put up her hood, then thought better of it. It would seem strange for a woman to attend a party with her hood up. With a quick prayer, she tugged her cloak more tightly about her and stepped into the room.

  She made an immediate right and started toward the postern door. She sidestepped a group of men and came face-to-face with a crisp white shirt covered chest. Helena stopped short and snapped her head up to meet the gaze of the dark-eyed warrior. He smiled down at her. She detected no malice in his demeanor, but even a man who intended only to talk to her could get her caught.

  Helene darted around him. He whirled, but she didn't look back, and kept going. A group of women passed. Helena turned her head aside and prayed no one tried to stop her. When she reached the door, her heart pounded so fiercely she was certain everyone could hear. She pushed out the door and into the light of the setting sun.

  Close, she was so close. All she had to do now was get outside the gates and there would be nothing to stop her. Thankfully, the courtyard teemed with people. Helena began a brisk pace toward the gate. Her heart leapt with joy when she spotted a group of elderly women. Helena fell in with them and walked through the gates and down the road toward the village. As they neared the tree line, she fell behind. When the path twisted around a rocky slope, she darted into the woods. The hardened snow crunched under her boots as she weaved through the thick cluster of pines and oaks. Bitter wind whipped across her face, yet Helena felt years of burden lift off her shoulders. This was her final theft. With a new life ahead, she could atone for her sins.

  On foot, it would have taken days to reach her destination. But Valor would get her there in a day. Guilt stabbed. Kaden trusted her to return the animal. Odd, he was the only man who had shown her any true concern. She would ensure the return of Valor and keep Kaden in her prayers for a long and happy life.

  Thick grey clouds stuttered across the sky. Helena glanced overhead. Before nightfall, she would need to locate shelter. She reached the spot where she had tied the horse and stopped short. He was gone. Was this the right place? She turned in a tight circle. Yes, she remembered the thick branched tree and the cluster of stones a few inches away. His reins must have come loose and he’d run off.

  Her heart sank. Without him, she would be out, once again, after dark. She forced calm and studied the tracks that headed in the direction they had come—toward his home. Perhaps Valor hadn’t been gone long. Might she catch him? Helena hurried forward as quickly as the snow allowed. She reached the road and had walked half an hour when the thud of horse’s hooves sounded up ahead. A rider, dressed in heavy furs, came into view. Her heart pounded. The rider rode Valor, she was sure of it. Anger twisted through her. Someone had stolen her horse. How could she possibly take the animal back? She was no match for a man.

  The rider neared. Covered in furs, he looked like a frost giant perched atop Valor’s back. He slowed. Her mind churned. Even if they stopped and he dismounted, she couldn’t mount Valor quickly enough to get away. Might she somehow trick the man, make him leave the animal?

  To her surprise, the man brought the horse to a stop in front of her. “Helena?” He threw back his hood.

  Helena startled at the familiar sea-green eyes that stared down at her.

  “Kaden, what are ye doing here?”

  “I found your satchel.” He nodded to his saddle and she caught sight of her satchel. “I found Valor on the trail and feared ye had encountered trouble.” His gaze intensified. “What are ye doing on MacLeod land?”

  “Please, Kaden, go home.”

  He gave a slow shake of his head. “What kind of a man would I be if I left ye alone?”

  “The kind who can offer a woman the dignity she deserves.”

  “Lass, I am no’ leaving ye. And you didnae answer my question. Why did you go to Dunvegan? I see your tracks come from that direction. The truth now. Are ye in some kind of trouble? Did ye go there for help?”

  “There is a wedding celebration,” she said. “Laird MacLeod married.”

  “Caeleb married?” he blurted.

  Helena blinked. “You know him?”

  Kaden looked past her at the castle. “A long time ago.” He looked back at her and

  extended a hand. “Come, I will take you where ye need to go.”

  She shook her head and started to reply, but he cut her off.

  “It will be dark soon. You nearly died two days ago. Do ye wish to tempt fate again?”

  She hesitated.

  He lifted a brow and motioned with his fingers for her to come closer. She stood unmoving and something flickered in his eyes that made her think he might throw her over the saddle. With a sigh, she took two steps forward, then placed her hand in his. He grasped her hand and swung her onto the horse behind him.

  Even through his thick furs, when Helena wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his back, Kaden could feel her warmth—and the contact sent an ache to his groin. He nudged Valor’s ribs. The horse jolted into a trot. Helena’s hold tightened. A shiver crawled up his spine.

  She had clearly been to the castle—she said for the wedding celebration.

  His gut clenched. Caeleb had married. Kaden envisioned the great hall overflowing with well-wishers. Liam, his second cousin, would be there. Alec, his childhood friend. Grant, Hewie, John. The list went on. Sarah, Hewie’s wife. His cousin Fiona. Would even one of them miss him? Better he shouldn't ask such a question. The only question that mattered was, had Helena accomplished her theft? Where had she been headed when he’d found her? He gave a silent laugh. How was he to find the answers to his questions? She was no more forthcoming than he was.

  The wind whipped and he wondered if he should put Helena on his lap. They would ride well into the night to reach home. Would she protest if he held her in his arms? He had to admit, he liked the way she hugged him. Might she hug him just as close if he—

  Valor faltered. He neighed and tossed his head. Kaden yanked the r
eins, but the horse pranced to the side.

  “What has gotten in to ye, ol’ boy?” Kaden muttered.

  Valor unexpectedly reared. Helena cried out. Kaden leaned forward in an effort to force Valor’s front legs back onto the ground. Helena slipped. Kaden grabbed for her hand, but she slid off Valor’s croup and hit the round. Valor’s front hooves crashed back to the wet ground and Kaden yanked hard on the reins, then leapt from the saddle and dropped to one knee at Helena’s side.

  “Are ye hurt, lass?”

  “Only my pride.” She rubbed her rump.

  Kaden glanced at the horse. “I dinnae know what got into him. I’ve never seen him act that way.”

  He rose then pulled her to her feet. She cried out and started to fall. Kaden caught her to him.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  “My ankle. I must have landed harder than I thought.”

  Kaden swung her into his arms and she clasped his neck. “We are no’ too far from Gregor’s Inn along Loch Naveen,” he said. “He’s an old friend.” An old friend who Kaden hadn’t seen in over two years. “‘Tis getting late. We will stop there for the night and tend to your ankle.”

  Her dress, he realized was wet. When she fell, her cloak hadn’t protected her. She would be chilled to the bone in no time. Another reason to stop at the inn. She needed to get out of those clothes and into a hot bath. She hesitated, and he hid a smile. What was she going to do, limp to wherever she was going?

  “Loch Naveen is north of here,” she said tentatively.

  “Aye. This road will lead us directly to the inn.”

  “But if we go through the woods, we can make it there faster,” she said.

  “‘Tis best to stay on the high road,” he said.

  She frowned, and his gaze caught on her pretty mouth. “Through the woods is the fastest path to Loch Naveen and the most direct route,” she said.

  “The fastest path doesnae mean it is the right one.”